


Take Me Far Away (We Could be the World);

by br0ken_hands



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, i write one camp au fluffy fic and now i am incapable of writing anything but angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/br0ken_hands/pseuds/br0ken_hands
Summary: The monks of the Cobalt Soul are not kind, but neither is fate to those who take up the blue mantle. This is the truth that no one tells you about. Yasha dies in your arms one stormy night in the outskirts of Kamordah.orA story of grief, mourning, and the nature of truths that are as sure as the tides upon the material plane on which we walk.





	Take Me Far Away (We Could be the World);

This is the truth that no one tells you. At the monastery, they say that the world is broken and that you are the glue. They say that the world is darkness and you must use that darkness to revive the light. They tell you that truth is like a freshly baked loaf of bread that does not share its heat until it is broken apart and its pieces put into the hands of the people. They do not tell you that the glue that holds the world together is red in colour and smells of iron. They do not tell you that the light smells like cinder and flickers as ash falls from the skies, lighting up the dusk sky. They do not tell you that heat leaves the loaf of bread just as quickly as warmth fades from a still body in the rain.

Thunder rolls in the distance and you curl your torso further over the body in your arms, perhaps in a futile motion to keep the rain from falling on your friend. Yet, the raindrops are too many and they scatter as they drip onto pale skin, soak into leather, and ping quietly off of the blade of a greatsword still grasped in her hand. Truth is the unstoppable force and immovable pillars that hold up the skies from which the rains pour, the sole constant that remains, objective and evermore, both cold in how clinical it is and warm in the assurance it brings. Truth is everpresent, even if it is yet unknown, buried behind naivety and ignorance. This is the truth that no one tells you: that death is truth, unavoidable and irrefutable. The monks of the Cobalt Soul are not kind, but neither is fate to those who take up the blue mantle. This is the truth that no one tells you about: Yasha dies in your arms one stormy night in the outskirts of Kamordah.

Hours after the light faded from two-toned eyes, a little campfire struggles against the wind and rain even under the protection of the overturned cart. The horses whiney lowly by a grove of trees to which they are tied and quiet whispers come from the bedrolls laid out inside Caleb's little tent-orb. You have never fully understood the magic that stands as the force behind such feats, but then again, you understand very little in the world around you. The wind cuts through your thin robes and you shiver, arms covered in a thin film of water from the falling rain. You thank Ioun for small mercies - it would not be difficult to mistake the tears that track down your face after everyone has gone to bed for raindrops. Caleb sits beside you, far enough that you think he doesn't hear the slight catch in your throat every time you breathe in. 

You buried Yasha with her shawl on, hands wrapped around the handle of Magician's Judge, eyes gently closed by calloused fingers and a gentle touch. The shawl had to be tugged over unnaturally over one shoulder to cover the blackened and curling flesh over her left chest that scorched through her clothes searing into skin, burning through muscle and ligaments until it rendered her left arm useless just before a blade cleaved her open from neck to naval, dropping the titan to her knees, gurgling blood from her throat as she gasped for air through ruined lungs. You remember catching her as she collapsed forward, rolling her onto her back, clutching her bloodied fist as her chest heaved, viscera strewn across the ground and your lap. You remember the coldness that gripped your spine when you see fear in Yasha's eyes for the first time, when she whispers, barely audible, "I don't want to die".

You had washed your hands in the babbling brook not too far from where you buried her, rinsed the stains from your clothes and peeling the dried shell off your arms, scrubbed it from under your nails. Your skin is red and raw, scratched pristine under meticulous fingers, but whenever you turn back to look at them, you see blood dripping off your fingers and your throat feels perpetually torn from when you screamed into the sky as breath left your love. Truth does not ease your heart this night, nor wipe the red off of your fingers. You can no longer trust your heart, your mind, your eyes. How does one determine what is true when one cannot even trust one's senses? To have trust is to be so practiced in the truth you need not question its source. Funny things, trusting to find the truth. 

A raindrop falls onto the bridge of your nose and your blink as it scatters into your eyes. You don't wipe it away. This is the truth that no one tells you. The poems and epics speak of loves that conquered even death itself, locked in a perpetual struggle against the world and always rising triumphant. Your parents told you as a child that if you loved someone enough, nothing in the world could cause them to fall away, that you would always find a way. This is the truth that you know: you loved Yasha. This is the truth that no one tells you: You are not destined to be the hero of the story, fated to never have a happily ever after. This is the truth that no one tells you: Yasha dies in your arms one stormy night in the outskirts of Kamordah and your world is broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from White Crow by ODEO
> 
> Tumblr: frumpkinspocketdimension  
> Discord: SweetBabyRae#0967


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